Before sleep thoughts laying on my stomach in the park
Rob me blind! rob me blind!
So sure that makes the most sense
When a thing sleeps is when it is time to accept its money
Like working in the restaurant
Ok pay me and I'll go home
The full-body subway turnstiles like iron maidens
push me along
Thinking about money as if I am from another planet
push me along
Thinking about money as if I am from another planet
"Ah yes I must have exact change, hold on"
Little coins in my coinpurse glowing through my pocket
Little crinkly bills
Flowing like a river through my fingers
"Thank you have a nice day"
In the lining of my nice lady coat
Coat of a nice lady
When I'm sleeping is when the money comes and goes
When I'm sleeping is when the money comes and goes
The restaurant goes to sleep and we collect the money
It goes dark and quiet
Closes its eyes
I am a restaurant and the restaurant is me
At home in bed sleep, precious, sleep
says the restaurant
At home in bed
At home in bed
He is mad at me because I can't identify the plant with small yellow flowers
Language isn't important anyways he mocks bitterly
stomps away, glaring from across the room
I roll over becoming aware of the bed
the soft warm arm across my waist
I am not the restaurant any more
